26. Present Day – New Year’s Day
26
PRESENT DAY – NEW YEAR’S DAY
JOSIE
T he smell of coffee filters into my dream, and I wake. There’s a press of my hand, a stroke of my face, and whispered words.
‘I’ve got to go.’
I blink into the murky light and find fervent dark pools framed by thick lashes resting on me. A deep-set eleven is furrowed between them.
Adrenaline pumps through me as everything comes back and I blunder upwards, trying to launch myself upright.
‘Hey, it’s okay. He’s okay,’ Scott murmurs as a big hand anchors me down. ‘Coffee’s made.’ He stands and backs towards the door. ‘I’ll see you around.’
And before I know it, he’s disappeared, shutting the door softly behind him.
The brand of his warm skin lingers, as does the intensity in eyes — full of something like pain. Or regret?
Whatever is torturing him can’t be as bad as the heavy weight of rejection I’ve been trying to shake off. Maybe it’s nothing — or just the sight of me after a long night.
My hand goes to my hair — a nest. My mouth — a sewer. A hot flash of embarrassment courses through my limbs. I cringe as I tentatively sniff at my top. It mainly smells of hops. It could be worse.
Swiping a fresh mug of coffee from the table, I pad into my room and find Jamie starfishing on my bed, snoring loudly. My full-length mirror reveals what — I check my watch — three-and-a-half hours’ sleep on New Year’s looks like.
I’m not sure whether to be grateful Scott made a swift dash for the exit, or mortified that he witnessed any of this not-so-hot mess.
I’m so confused. He was supposed to wake me up, but he let me sleep. He was supposed to stay until the morning — not that I made him welcome — but he’s gone. Unless his idea of the morning is six thirty. Horrifying.
So, he didn’t get jealous about the dating app, like I’d hoped. But he didn’t exactly help either. And then he was there for me with Jamie last night. Perhaps he really does just want to be friends. I look myself in the eyes and silently reiterate it’s a new year, and I need to stop thinking of him as anything else.
My phone vibrates on the coffee table and I scuttle from the bedroom to grab it. The screen shows a missed call from Abi. I note the time and a bulb goes off in my head as I hit re-dial.
When she answers, I squawk, ‘Oh my goodness, I forgot the time difference! Happy New Year!’
The noise of a party clunks in the background, snatches of music and voices ringing out behind Abi’s giggles. ‘I miss you, my friend,’ she groans, voice slightly slurred.
‘Miss you, too. Where in the world are you now?’
‘Mexico with Camila’s family. When are you going to visit?’ She pretends to sulk and I chuckle.
‘You know I’d love to, but I can’t just hop on a plane.’ What I would give to simply fly away. A snore sounds from my bedroom and, remembering my brother, I’m reminded of one of the reasons why I can’t up and leave.
‘You co-ould ,’ she sings. ‘Seriously, the offer is always there.’ Her voice gets animated and she speaks faster and faster. ‘I’d love for you to visit. And you could work on your art here. Camila said she would love to host you on one of the retreats.’
I sink onto the sofa. ‘I would love that.’ To immerse myself in a new culture, a new place, in art … on my work. The thought makes my soul sing.
What a dream it would be. But, in reality, it would be totally impractical for me to go travelling. I’d need to get myself organised, plan it, fund it, skills that don’t come easily to me.
“It’s dangerous, Jo Jo. You can’t just waft your way around the world. You’d be vulnerable.” My mum always manages to remind me what a disaster I am when it comes to taking care of myself.
“ And what’s the point?” she’d ask. My, “To see things, to experience life,” was always answered with, “You might lose your life if you run out of money or find yourself being a drug mule, or worse, being kidnapped and sold into slavery.”
Another reason I can’t go. My own mother doesn’t think I could hack it.
And, could I really do it to her? Leave and potentially never come back?
I hear some shouting in the background and Abi giggles again, bringing me back to the moment.
Dismissing the invitation as the unlikely musings of a drunk woman, I change the subject.
‘Are you having a good night?’
‘Camila’s been spoiling me and sharing her favourite traditions. She got me some red lingerie, said it was to attract passion or something. Insisted I eat this fish dish called Bacaloa. I was dubious, but it was yummy. And did I tell you about the grapes?’
‘Grapes?’ My voice waivers and suddenly I’m at the Wreck on Christmas Eve and in the gallery on Halloween, the memories clashing together.
‘She fed me twelve grapes just before midnight, and whispered everything she hoped for us with each one. It was hot .’
‘Sounds amazing.’ I do my best to sound happy for my friend.
‘So come and visit. Promise you willlll.’ She’s definitely drunk.
‘Ask me when you’re not battered and I’ll think about it.’ She probably won’t even remember this conversation in the morning.
No matter how much I wish I could go, I can’t leave Oldton. I can’t leave my family, and Mum’s right, I couldn’t hack it on my own. It seems like I’ll be trapped here forever.
I give Jamie until ten before I start clattering around, loudly making him a coffee. I’m on my third. As the kettle boils, I hastily flip over the polaroid photo from under the reindeer magnet on the fridge. Some things little brothers don’t need to see.
I should probably get rid of it altogether, but I’m proud of my curves. And although it brings back memories of Halloween, it serves as another reminder that I want to find that freedom again. As if the huge, fuck-off mural wasn’t enough.
No, I’ll keep the polaroid, but I’ll keep it away from snoopy siblings.
‘You suck,’ Jamie groans when I switch the light on, plonk his mug down onto the bedside table, and pull the covers back.
‘And you stink. It’s time to get up.’
He pulls a pillow over his head, but I whip it away and thump him with it.
He winces, reaching out to grab it back.
I chuck the pillow out of his reach. ‘I’ve got to get you home, or Mum will start ringing me.’
‘Did you tell her?’ The timbre of his voice reaches a pitch I’ve not heard from him in a few years.
‘Did I fuck ? I’m not evil.’
‘I fucked up, didn’t I?’ He runs his hand through his hair, scrubbing down to his face.
‘Yeah, but you’re young. You’re supposed to. Now,’ I start prodding him with my foot, ‘into … the … shower.’
I take in the family home through my windshield as I wait for Jamie to fumble with his key. Neat lawns, trimmed hedgerows. It’s a monument to dull, middle-class life. My throat tightens. I want more than … this.
Watching Jamie, I feel guilty about abandoning him to my parents while he’s nursing a hangover. He disappears inside the house and I put my car in gear to pull away, but there’s movement on the doorstep and my mum runs out.
‘You not staying for a cuppa, love?’ she calls.
Fuck.
‘Just parking,’ I lie.
With every crunching footstep over the gravel, I wish I’d have dropped his arse and sped off, but here I am, getting dragged inside.
Mum fusses about making a pot of tea, and we go into the sitting room. The tree is already packed away, track marks line the carpet from where the pine needles have been dispatched by the hoover.
I sink into a poufy cream chair, like I’m in a hug so tight that it’s suffocating. Jamie grimaces as he sits down opposite me.
‘You look a bit peaky, Jamie. Are you coming down with something?’ Mum asks.
‘No, I’m fine.’ He smothers a wince as he takes a cup and pours in some tea.
‘It’s too many late nights. I knew that job would be a bad idea.’
‘I’ve only done two shifts.’ He withers a little under her glare. ‘Actually, I do think I have a bit of a temperature.’ He smothers his hand dramatically on his forehead. ‘Maybe I should go and lie down.’
‘That’s probably for the best.’ Mum nods approvingly.
Jamie shoots me a wholly inadequate sorry expression. ‘Thanks for … for dropping me off.’ Virtually running from the room, he abandons me with a speed no sick person could manage. I can’t blame his urge to get away from our mother’s intensity.
Mum turns to me. ‘Did you have a good night?’
Did I throw down a challenge to a guy I’m borderline obsessed with who doesn’t feel the same way? Did that same guy help me wrestle my drunk, only-just-legal brother home?
I nod and smile. Best not tell her too much about it. ‘Did you?’
‘It was good to do something different,’ she says. ‘Get out of the house. And I can relax a bit I suppose, now I’ve seen where Jamie’s working.’
‘What did you think?’
‘It was … odd seeing Scottie there.’
‘Scott.’ I pour the scalding tea into a bone china cup. ‘His name’s Scott.’
‘Alright.’ She looks at me shrewdly.
Shit. Can she tell?
Mum sighs. ‘You know, it was like I lost two sons, when Marcus died. Seeing Scottie — Scott, again, it was … nice. Odd but nice.’
My dad walks in and pats my head like I’m three. Or a dog.
‘Tea’s brewed.’ Mum jumps to pour Dad a cup. ‘We were just talking about … Scott.’
Dad sits and grunts in acknowledgement.
The last thing I want to do is discuss Scott with my parents, especially not on so little sleep. Not when my tear ducts are still so sensitive to the sting of rejection. I cross and uncross my legs while a burning feeling of embarrassment creeps across my chest.
They don’t need to know their failure of a daughter can’t get a guy or a respectable job.
‘It’s such a shame he stopped coming over,’ Mum says.
Run interference, Josie.
‘Biscuit, Dad?’ I offer him the plate, hoping for some sort of distraction digestive.
He takes one, muttering something about Scott being selfish.
‘I wouldn’t say he was selfish,’ Mum replies, and I throw a wide-eyed gaze at her. ‘He’s probably been … busy.’
‘Busy?’ Dad snorts. ‘At one time he used this place like a second home. Wasn’t too busy to come over for dinner then.’
Dad looks thunderous and suddenly I’m slightly envious that Scott was able to disappear all those years ago and avoid this. My parents. Disappointment thick in the air. I take a sip of scalding tea and wince. If only there was something stronger than tea to pair with this uncomfortable situation.
Every warning bell in my brain screams to abort this conversation, but I feel compelled to defend him, especially after the solid he did Jamie and I in the early hours.
Sitting up straighter, I say, ‘I think it’s great he’s given Jamie a job.’
‘I suppose. Hardly what I’d have wished for him though. A pub .’ Dad tuts, like that kind of work is beneath the likes of him. Of us.
This is why I left. This needling feeling of inadequacy.
‘It’s just a part-time job while he’s saving up. Isn’t it what Marcus dreamed of doing?’ I loop my feet up under me, and search for the anklet I know isn’t there.
Laser beams of disapproval shoot from Mum’s eyes, and I drop my feet back down again. She nods, just once, her telepathic message of don’t put your feet on the furniture delivered.
‘At least one of them got their dream, I suppose,’ says Dad.
Struggling to keep my usual lid on my emotions, I gear up to argue some more, but Mum interrupts with, ‘He could do with a haircut.’
For the first time in my life, I’m grateful for my mum’s nit-picking — successfully derailing Dad from building up a head of steam about Scott and Marcus. Then Jamie lopes back into the room, another welcome interruption.
‘Can you take me to the Bull, Jose? I forgot something.’
‘Jamie, manners,’ Mum interjects.
‘Please,’ he adds, but I’m already on my feet, nodding.
‘Of course.’ Thank fuck for that. ‘Thanks for the tea, Mum.’
‘Are you sure you’re well enough?’ Mum calls out as we head towards the front door.
We speed away, my old Beetle leaving a plume of frosty vapour in the chilled air.
Pausing at a junction, I reach across my brother and open the glove box, pulling out a packet of sour cherries and dropping them into his lap. ‘I think today is going to need these.’
He tears into the packet without argument.
‘So where to?’ I ask, immensely grateful for any reason to escape.
‘The Bull.’ He frowns, like duh .
I root around the packet he offers me, swiping two cherries without taking my eyes off the road.
Fuck. The sugar hits the spot.
‘I thought that was an excuse,’ I say around the sweetie in my mouth. ‘What did you leave behind?’ I exit a roundabout, heading in the direction of the pub.
‘I forgot to give something to Scott, and … I think I owe him an apology.’
‘Fair enough.’ I nod. ‘Not coming in this time though.’